


When We Break

by dizzydreamer



Category: Iron Man (Comics), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, a little bit of cursing though just a warning, no warnings because theres nothing mature, two idiots in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 15:42:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13790859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzydreamer/pseuds/dizzydreamer
Summary: "Have you ever known me to keep an empty bed," he leers, eyeing her over the rim of the cup as his stomach churns."Really," she says, and she's smiling now, for the first time since they started talking, "who is it?"And that's where this whole crock of shit really takes a turn for the worse."Steve."also known as the inevitable fake dating au





	When We Break

It started, as most things do, with a cup of coffee. A tall Americano, lifted to eyeline by a pretty woman in a red dress. 

"Thanks, Pepper," he moaned, grabbing the coffee with steady hands, and breathing in the taste of it, sharp and warm and perfect. 

Pepper had that pinched look in her face, the kind that said, "you are so getting your ass handed to you", so Tony took a sip, hot on his tongue, and now his face was pinched, gathering wrinkles as the seconds flew by, and really this is- 

"All your fault Pepper, honestly, look at me. I've got gray hairs. Now what did I do wrong this time?" 

Pepper was not amused by his witty inner dialogue, clearly, and the pinched look turned something sour. 

"All I wanted to say, Tony, is that I'm worried about you. God knows I never thought I'd try and convince you to go out and meet people, but goodness, aren't you lonely?" 

The 'since we broke up' is quiet, fluttering behind her words, a whisper of all the things she'd never let them talk about. It sits in the silence between them, an ache, a cavern of something desperate to be filled, and maybe that's why he does it. 

"Have you ever known me to keep an empty bed," he leers, eyeing her over the rim of the cup as his stomach churns. 

"Really," she says, and she's smiling now, for the first time since they started talking, "who is it?" 

And that's where this whole crock of shit really takes a turn for the worse. 

"Steve." 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

"Stevie, honey, darling, light of my life-" 

"What on earth did you do this time?" Says Steve, and he's already smiling, voice full of laughter, eyes soft as he waits for Tony to tell him all about it. Not for the first time, Tony regrets how infinitely he's fucked this whole thing up. 

"I told a teeny little lie to Pepper that may or may not have spiraled," he groans, falling onto the couch and kicking his knees up to rest on Steve's legs, a thing of habit. 

Steve waits, eyeing Tony carefully as he waits for him to elaborate. Tony lifts an arm over his eyes, and sighs, and Steve lets out a snort. 

"Alright, fair maiden, what is this Oh-so-dramatic lie you've told?" 

"I may..." Said Tony, stretching the silence as long as he could, "have told her we were dating." 

Steve blinks. 

 

"Dating?" 

"Well, boning. Bumping uglies, if you will. The dating I think was more implied." 

Steve swallows then, and suddenly the smile drops off his face, and Tony feels it again, that phantom ache, the urge to grab glue and tape and stick it back on there himself. 

"I'll just tell her the truth. It was a dumb lie, really, it's not like we could have pulled it off or anything-" 

"No, we can... we can roll with it. The team would buy it, I'm sure. Pepper already believes you, and-" 

Tony stops, lifting his head to settle on the arm of the couch, and he stares and stares. Pink cheeked and beautiful, Steve licks his lips once, then twice, self-conscious. Tony shakes his head, suddenly aware of how ridiculous this whole thing is, but absolutely desperate to see where it takes him. 

"Yeah, that's. Okay." 

"Okay?" 

"Sure, that's," Tony swallows, throat dry, "Boyfriends, yeah? God, I feel like I'm back in middle school." 

Steve chuckles, and that thing, that oh so mysterious drift of silence between them is broken. Two boys, laughing on the couch, an easy kind of thing between them. These are the moment, Tony thinks, tilting his chin to the ceiling as he laughs and laughs, that make the ache a little quieter.  
The voice in his chest, the one that moans and spits at that pit inside him, shakes his head. 

'The second he leaves,' it whispers, 'I'm here. I'm always here.' 

Tony just laughs. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

"Saw a preview," says Steve, dishrag in his hand, "thought it looked good. Any interest?" 

Tony sneaks a glance at him, hands under the tap as the water washes over his thumbs, and settles in the divots of the glass he's holding. 

"That new Sandra Bullock thing? Yeah, it looked okay. You check the times?" 

Steve hums, reaching for the cup in Tony's hand. 

"Yeah. Figured we'd go late, catch something to eat beforehand." 

Tony nods, reaching into the sink to grab Bruce's tea mug. The radio in the corner of the room is on, crooning something soft, and Tony smiles, just enough that the corners of his lips pull up, creasing his cheeks. When he reaches over to hand Steve the mug, Steve is there, ruddy cheeked, blinking and blinking at Tony till he lets out a breath. Tony counts, slow in his head, one, two, and then Steve blinks sharp, and reaches for the glass. The ache is back, a murmur behind the music, something steady and hot and blinding, and Tony swallows down the ache, the want, the need. 

"Tony-" Steve says, and Tony's not crying, he won't, not till this thing between them finally breaks. 

But Steve just stands, arms at his sides, and it's not about the dishes, but it's not quite about them yet either, so Tony just smiles and says, 

"Yes?" 

Steve goes back to drying the cup. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

They're jogging, two warm bodies in motion beside each other, and Tony's breath is drawn, coming out sharp. He huffs behind Steve, who laughs, sticky sheen of sweat just barely breaking out across his forehead, and fuck that guy. 

"Fuck you," says Tony, but it's not quite working, causing he's laughing while he says it, and he doesn't know quite how to quit. 

"If you did this with me more often, maybe you wouldn't be on your knees two measly miles in." 

"Two miles is a lot of goddamn distance, I'll have you know. Much more than the human body was built for." 

"We run marathons, Tony," says Steve, and he's smiling like he's not quite sure how to stop, and Tony is hit by the sudden need to kiss him, so he keeps talking. 

"Not fucking well," and that's a weak argument to begin with, but Steve just shakes his head, and runs a little faster. 

Yeah, fuck that guy. 

No, really. Fuck that guy. 

(Please) 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

There are moments, soft things, where the pit in his heart is quiet, but the ache in his chest is full force, living and breathing, a thing with fists that pull and tug. There are moments where they are nothing but boys, breathing in the silence of each others lungs, and Tony thinks, god, if only. There are moments that are words and heart, that sing songs to the broken in the space between his ribs, and Tony can't seem to figure out why that distance keeps pulling him closer when it hurts so bad to be far apart. 

Tony Stark is a man of self-preservation. He built a heart out of steel so no one could break it, built it again just to do it better, wrapped iron round fists so no one could see his hands shake. He is no sleep, eight cups of coffee, always better, always more. Drinks whiskey like it's cheap and loves like it isn’t. But Steve Rogers is filling in the gaps, the wounds, doesn't let him reach for the bottle, kisses shaking fingers like it costs him nothing, and Tony lets him. He lets him. 

Tony Stark is a man of self-preservation, but Steve Rogers loves like he could moves mountains. Steve Rogers is soft, and bright, pink in the morning and blue in the night. He's a sure bet. Tony Stark is a thing of nerves, but Steve Rogers loves like he isn't. Like he knows what he is, and just doesn’t care. 

Tony Stark loves Steve Rogers like the broken bit of him don’t matter. But they do. 

Tony says nothing. It’s better that way. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

"Hey, Steve, do you- oh shoot," Clint says, dropping his voice to a whisper, "is Mom asleep?" 

Tony had his eyes closed, but from the way Steve's hand tightened a fraction in his hair, he could imagine the cool look Steve had settled on. 

"Shh. What do you want," he whispered, and his hand slipped back through Tony hair, fingernails running along his scalp. 

"You really gotta hit that soon. Your balls have got to be blue at this point." 

"No bluer than yours," Steve huffs, picking his book back up, and settling in. 

Tony's head shifted in his lap, and he ran his hand through his hair again, long fingers slipping through the curls. 

"I'm worried, man," said Clint, and his voice was earnest this time, hushed and steady. 

"Don’t be." 

Tony wished he could see his face. The way his eyebrows settled into creases, the line of his lips. But if he moved, they'd stop talking. 

"How much longer can you keep doing this, Steve? Everybody can tell how you-" 

It was a shuddering sound, a stilted exhale that shuttered and shook. Tiny felt the sigh to his toes, cool and sad and quiet. 

"It's enough, Clint." 

"Is it?" 

Tony's wrists shook, reverberating with the need to touch, to hold. He wanted to stand, grab ahold of his jaw with soft fingers and tug, till Steve stopped sighing, till he wasn't sad and loose and desperate. 

"It has to be." 

It isn't. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

There are moments where the world is a hush. Where the seconds between them fall quiet like pennies, drip to their toes and pool between ankles. There are moments where moments feel like mountains, where they pull and climb and reach, where the silence sounds like oceans to their heartbeats. There are moment where nothing is said, and everything is soft, and quiet palms reach through darkness to press kisses at pulse points. 

This is not one of those moments. 

"You could have died," says Steve, and his cheeks are pink, but he's angry, words falling sharp from his tongue, spilling over and bubbling from his chest with the urge to hit something, anything. 

"I'm fine, Steve, I'm fine." 

Steve is grabbing, fisting hands in shirts and hair, checking for bruises, missing bits and bobs. Tony spreads his arms for him, lets his hands run over his sides, quick and frantic. Fingers grab, pull, tugging at his chest, heavy and hard and desperate. 

Steve is crying. 

"I can’t do this. I can't sit here and watch you do this." 

"I know." 

His hands are still roaming, running down arms and smoothing at wrinkles, ironing out the kinks in his undersuit. 

"You're gonna get yourself killed. I can’t sit here and watch you get killed." 

"I know." 

He's still crying, but it’s soft now, and his hands slide down to his wrists and still between his fingers, holding tight. 

"I don't know what I'd do if I lost you." 

He knows. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

They break in such an ordinary way. 

They're in the kitchen. The radio is playing something Steve knows all the words to, and he sets down the whisk to wrap his arms around Tony. He sways, back in forth, and all Tony can hear is his heartbeat, firm and loud in his ears. Steve is a steady weight behind him, a warm presence, and he bends low, whispering the words to the song in his ear, and he just cant stand it. It's too warm, too soft, too good for him, and when he opens his eyes he's crying. 

"Tony? Tony, honey, what's wrong?" 

He can't do anything but cry, quiet and low and aching, spilling from somewhere inside him he thought he drowned at sixteen. Steve grabs him by his shoulders, tugging at his wrists, and then they're on the floor, Tony falling firmly between Steve's knees. They're tangled, shoulder to ankles, tucked into each other firmly, and Tony's still crying, Jesus Christ, but he can't stop. 

Steve says nothing. Just holds his in his arms, warm and present and there and Tony just can't handle it. He's reaching, thumbs pressing into the holds of Steve's jaw before he can think about it, and then they’re kissing, and Tony's still crying, but it's different now. His mouth finds Steve and holds to him, searching for that good thing he always gives away. His fingers settle in his hair, cradling at the back of Steve's neck, till the angle is just right, and Tony is falling, sinking, drowning in this love. Steve's arms are wrapped around his waist, and Tony is so full, of him and here, this one beautiful moment. 

The urge to breathe swept through him, urging then adamant, till Tony leaned back, a breath away and fell to whispering, ardent and hushed and reverent, "I love you. I love you, god, do I love you." 

And then Steve's laughing, and barely panting at all, the asshole. 

"I love you too. God, are we idiots, huh?" 

"Speak for yourself," Tony huffed, still smiling, "Certified genius over here." 

Steve kicked at him, gentle and laughing, so bright and full of love. God, Tony loves that word. He loves Steve. He should tell him again. 

"I love you," he says, and he's smiling, soft and warm and nothing at all like Tony Stark. 

"I love you," Steve whispers back, and he means it. 

He means it. 

"I love you," Tony whispers a third time, just because he can. 

Steve says it again.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Author's Note:**

> hoo boy, that was a thing. sorry if this was a crock of shit! this is both my first fanfiction and my first time writing for the avengers, so if this is complete and utter garbage, i am greatly sorry, and also blame it entirely on that. if you did like it though, id really appreciate it if you gave this a kudo, or left me a review! ive always been a poet, but fanfiction is new to me, so id love to hear your thoughts! if you loved it greatly, and really wanna babble, please feel free to follow me on tumblr at @hesallin ! thanks again so much if you read this! i had a lot of fun writing this!!!


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